Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY 23 face, and, before them all, he pressed his lips to hers. "Frances! Frances!" he cried joyfully. "Oh, thank God ! You came safe, too — to clear yourself — oh, Dick, Dick — for me !" she cried. Then her head fell back again, and he had to give her up to the others. They took her and bore her below. CHAPTER XL THE CLEARING OF THE CLOUDS. "Martin W. Marsh, the Durant Works, Durant, Pennsylvania." Two telegrams thus addressed were handed to the little chief designer on the morning after the Mongolian reached port. The story of the wreck of the Irvessa, and of the rescue from the reef, was spread upon the front page of every morning paper. Marsh had been reading it through on the way down to the office. With trembling fingers he opened the first telegram from San Francisco. "Extend every courtesy to William Bradley, of the secret service, who is now in Durant. This is your warrant for furnishing him with every facility to discover any facts which can assist him fix cause and responsibility for disaster to Sommers' gun, pen-ding my arrival Wednesday. "George Durant." Marsh dropped the message fearfully, took up the second, and tore it open : "Oppose in every possible way inquiry by Bradley or any one else. Appear to comply with Mr. Durant's instructions, but obstruct Bradley as far as practicable till I arrive. Destroy this. E. P." Marsh grasped the first again, and reread it, trembling. With weak fingers he tore Pinckney's telegram into tiny bits and painfully scattered the shreds, part in the wastebasket and part out of the window. Then he looked down at himself, and shivered. For two long months — ever since Pinckney had deserted him to sail again with the Durants for the Philippines, and had left the little designer to face alone the fatal test of the Sommers gun — Marsh had often found himself thus shivering. Through the interminable days before the trial of the gun, he had racked himself somehow through his tasks. He had quieted himself, as he tossed through those terrible, sleepless nights, by telling himself that, after the gun was fired and failed, the strain must end. But when the news of the fatal firing came, then he knew that the strain had only commenced. These latter endless weeks, which brought the thickening threats of inquiry and investigation had worn out his last nerve so that he merely waited helplessly, praying for Pinckney. For Mr. Pinckney, surely, would steady and save him. Pinckney, his powerful, puzzling, and inexplicable friend, could so prompt and support him as to pull him safely through the investigation. Surely Pinckney must come to help him before it would be upon him. But he had not come. Already, now, this secret-service man, Bradley, had been about Durant, bothering Marsh, for ten days. But Marsh, making excuses of both Mr. Durant's and Mr. Pinckney's absense, had been able to put him off and keep him away from the offices. But now, not only had this telegram come from Mr. Durant, commanding him directly to take Bradley in, but Bradley himself was in the outer office, armed with another telegram from Mr. Durant, empowering him to examine whatsoever and whomsoever he wished. And Pinckney, instead of being there to help, had only sent this telegram. Pale and shaking, the little man had to go out and bring in the secret-service agent. He had to answer his questions dazedly, as evasively as he could. He had to show dozens of papers, designs, and drawings, on demand. Would Pinckney never come? At last he came. Marsh knew that Mr. Durant himself would scarcely come to the works that morning. But Pinckney, surely, must appreciate his position. He had, for he was awaiting Marsh there. "Oh, Mr. Pinckney !" The little man rushed upon the manager in his relief. "You must have had a terrible time on the sea, sir !" he exclaimed, as he took the other's hand. "But I can't tell you how glad I am you came out " Yes, yes, Marsh," Pinckney now checked him impatiently. "You've been having something of a time here, too, eh ?" He came to the matter directly. "You rather needed me — what?" "Yes, sir !" Marsh admitted. "You've heard, of course, how the Sommers gun exploded in the test and killed three men and hurt four others ! Oh, I tell you I could scarcely sleep an hour before it ; and since then — I don't know what I've done, or how I've got along! I — we both deserve prison for it!" he blurted boldly, in his agitation. "Hush, Marsh !" Pinckney eyed the little man severely. "Don't even think that to yourself. How could we tell that at this special test those men would stay outside their shelters and get killed? It wasn't our fault at all. So don't blame yourself for that, Marsh." "I know, sir," the little man agreed guiltily, "that perhaps we couldn't know they were going to be careless with that particular gun. But, still, we both knew, sir, that they often are careless at tests." "What do you mean, Marsh?" Pinckney demanded, struck by something in the other's tone. "I mean, sir, that just the day before the test I wrote to the man in charge, warning him to be careful with the Sommers gun. But — it happened, anyway !" "What's that?" Pinckney grabbed Marsh. "Oh, I didn't sign it, sir, or word it in any way to let any one suspect that any one knew there was anything wrong with the gun," whined the little man under the strong grasp. "I should hope not !" Pinckney dropped him. "But sometimes I've wished I had," the designer continued bravely, "if it would have saved them." "You ought to be glad you didn't give them anything to go for us with." "Them, sir?" "Bradley and the secret service, of course. They've been altogether too busy. This Brad'ey had a telegram waiting for Mr. Durant at San Francisco. That's why Mr. Durant wired you as he did. You got my wire, too, Marsh?" "Yes, sir." "You see, in trying to help you, Marsh," Pinckney burst out bitterly upon the little man, "what I've got myself into. And I suppose you see I've got to get us out now?" "Yes, sir." "Then you understand that you've got to stand close by me and do what